The Last of Them
by thewritershavetheTARDIS
Summary: "I was great. Powerful. Truly a force of nature. But now? I was weak, I was powerless, I was lost, and I was alone. Being with these people, everyone talking about the creature being held captive, it all brought the loss and the sadness on like a tidal wave, pulling me under and flooding my lungs. I was drowning in it, which was both horrible and hilarious."
1. Abducted

**Disclaimer: I own nothing here except my OC and kind of the plot (like, 60% of it). All references and other characters are the property of whoever the hell owns PotC. :) Enjoy, and pretty please no flames. :)**

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><p>The chains were iron.<p>

If I had known that, then perhaps I would have struggled a bit more. As it was, I had assumed them to be incapable of intelligent thought - simple, uninformed pirates for me to easily overpower. But in that darkened alley, what I had assumed to be only two men quickly became a dozen. What I had assumed to be ignorant bandits were moderately clever mercenaries. What I had assumed to be made of breakable silver were in fact solid iron shackles.

It seemed that I was ill-suited to be making any kind of assumptions.

The dozen or so men had quite unceremoniously locked me inside a wooden crate. Needles to say, I despised my prison: it was cramped, so I had to sit with my knees tucked up to my chest until my legs fell asleep, and the entire thing reeked of wet fur and what I suspected to be corpses - something that did concern me. Severely, in fact. I was not certain how long I had been in the crate, but it had felt like a few days at the very least. It had also been moved several times, every small tilt sending me crashing forwards or backwards and leaving me with a few impressive bruises.

At last, during the final relocation, the crate was set down with a tremendous jolt. I cursed softly but froze as a crack sounded from above me: the crate was being opened. Light pierced my gaze painfully as the top of the wooden box was lifted away, and I shrank back instinctively. Several faces peered down at me, all of them confused or sickeningly delighted.

"It's really her?" one of them whispered. Another nodded solemnly, and suddenly hands were reaching into the crate and wrapping themselves around my arms and torso and hauling me out of the small prison. I was shoved onto a damp wooden floor, and stifled a gasp of pain as the iron shackles shifted around my wrists, sending a tremor of agony through the already-scalded flesh.

"Tell the captain it's here," one of the men said, staring down at me with an unreadable expression. When no one moved, he turned to the group at large and yelled, "Someone bloody well go and tell him!" A younger boy scurried off, sprinting up a flight of stairs.

I quickly studied the room, taking in my surroundings: we were in a dim room it seemed, the entire thing carved from wood. The floor seemed damp and a bit mouldy everywhere, and it smelled strongly of alcohol and sweat - a stench that I was used to, although not fond of. The room stretched on further, and I could make out hammocks and cots, as well as a few barrels of ambiguous contents.

"Look at it," said one of the men softly, and this sentence brought my attention immediately back to my captors. I glanced sharply at the one who had spoken: a gangly man whose hair may or may not have naturally been the color of dishwater. He watched me curiously, as did most of the others; I did a headcount, coming up with eight. Eight men, most of them carrying some form of knife, with three at least two feet taller than me. Perhaps fighting was not a particularly advisable plan.

"I'm not an it," I said, my voice tight with anger. "I'm a person." More than a person, I added silently. I used to be so much more than just a person. But at least I did have that status to cling to.

"And what exactly is that person's name, hmm?" asked another man; this one was shorter than the first, and was covered head to toe in grime. Most were, but this one was particularly filthy.

I lifted my chin a bit, as I had learned to do so long ago; stared the man squarely in the eye, straightened my back and took a moment to dignify myself as best as I could under the circumstances. Then I said, in the strongest voice possible, "Marie. My name is Marie." This was not necessarily true: Marie was a pseudonym, but one I had gone by for a very long time. No one had called me by my given name in what seemed like decades.

"Marie," said a raspy voice from behind the cluster of men. They all immediately backed away, parting down the middle of their little group to make way for the speaker. When I looked up and saw the man walking towards me, I felt a flash of fury so powerful and overwhelming that, for just a moment, I imagined myself standing up and raking my fingernails across his cheek, deep enough to leave scars. Then I recalled my composure and watched him approach with a detached curiosity.

He was very tall and very thin, with a long, weathered face that had clearly seen many battles, both losses and victories. The man walked with a slight limp, which was probably due to his false leg, although he still held himself with a dignity that reminded me worryingly of my own. A great, tattered hat was worn proudly on his head of greying hair, and there was a freshly polished sword hanging from his belt.

"You're certain that this be the right girl," he said quietly to one of the men - the gangly one. He nodded adamantly, gesturing sideways to me. "Definitely."

The tall man turned back to me, watching me very closely with a small smirk playing upon his lips. "Very well. Have her sent to my cabin immediately - and keep the irons on her. She's far more dangerous than she would have you lot believe." He laughed harshly and climbed back up the stairs, the young boy who had gone to retrieve him following quickly.

The cluster of men turned back to face me, and we all stared at each other for a long moment before anyone said anything. Then I stood, attempting to brush myself off with my chained hands and ignoring the burns that appeared where the iron rubbed against my wrists.

"I suppose one of you bastards can show me to his cabin?"

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Hello! :) So this is my first shot at a POTC fanfic, so please go easy on me. I've just had this idea building up in my head for a month or two now, and just got the chance to write the first chapter out. The following chapters will be much longer, I promise, but I'm starting off slow for the first one to simply introduce the character and the beginning premise of the story. :) <strong>

**Hope y'all liked it, and there will be much more to come! **

**~ Corinne xoxo **


	2. Vivienne

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with POTC, only my OC and the sort-of plot of this story, minus any references to the movies. Enjoy! :)**

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><p>"Open the door."<p>

"These are the captain's quarters, you idiots. The brig's below decks." The tall, thickly-muscled man standing before the door paused, watching my two captors before letting out a harsh laugh. "That's _down_, by the way."

"We know where the damn brig is," snapped the man on my right, who was the one who had spoken to me first upon my release from the wooden crate. He did not seem like the brightest of minds, proven by his inability to comprehend sarcasm.

"I'm sure you do," the man before the door said with an annoyed frown. "Now take the prisoner there, you moron."

"We have orders to take her to the captain!" argued the man on my left, who was the only other who had spoken to me. I had originally cringed away from his grimy touch.

"Well, he's a busy man, isn't he?" said the door's guard. "Get her down to the brig, Raphe."

"No," said the shorter man, who I assumed to be Raphe. Odd name, but I had come across odder: after all, Raphe was nothing compared to something like Lobelia, which was a horrible thing to tether one's own child to.

"We have our orders!"

"And I have mine!"

"Well, ours are more important!"

"Like hell they are!"

I simply stood there during this pointless and ridiculous argument, heaving a sigh and shifting around in my filthy garb, which I longed to change out of. As the trio of ignoramuses yelled at each other about the location of their own brig, I glanced around my surroundings.

We were on a ship – an old one, certainly. That was obvious in the creaking hull and tattered sails. But it was nonetheless magnificent: a vast vessel, the sails broad enough to cover the entire crew. What I could see through the dim light of dusk of the ship's details, they were masterfully carved. The crew was large – probably around thirty shadows moved along the deck – and we were sailing quickly. But none of that was what thrilled me.

It was the sea.

I had not been at sea in what felt like years, although it could have been weeks for all I knew; keeping track of time was something I had never quite gotten accustomed to. The smell of the saltwater, the cool breeze and damp air were all blissful upon my senses, providing a delightful moment of happiness that I sorely needed.

Suddenly, the door to the captain's quarters was swung open, revealing a rectangle of dim light that did not appear particularly inviting. The young boy from earlier was standing there, holding the door open and watching the trio of arguing men in bafflement. His gaze flitted to mine for a moment, and I sighed in exasperation.

The boy cleared his throat and said, "Er, the captain's been listening to everything that's been going on here, so if she could just –'' Before the boy could continue I shook Raphe's grip off of my arm and walked inside, unable to tolerate the absurd amount of childishness and idiocy that was exuded by the few crewmembers I had met.

"Right then," said the boy, who was staring at me in bewilderment. "He's, er –''

"She'll find me, lad," said a familiar rasping voice from the depths of the room. "Just give her a moment. She's not quite used to human senses." My head snapped up as I stared into the room's shadows, glaring angrily at the man I knew to be back there.

"Oh, don't be shy," he said, and I could hear laughter in his voice. "We're all – well, we're all acquaintances, at least." I took a hesitant step forwards just as a sudden light flooded the room, throwing everything into sharp relief and startling me. I whipped around to see the young crewmember – who I had determined to be a cabin boy of some sort – lighting a second gas lamp. I shot him a glare, which he shied away from to go and light another lamp as far from me as possible.

"Thank you," the captain said, and the sound of his harsh voice recalled me to my current predicament. I whirled back around to face my captor, who was leaning back in a chair with his feet propped on his desk, watching me with an expression of utmost triumph.

"Marie," he said, still staring at me; his dark eyes never moved from my face. "What a lovely name." He slowly set his feet back down on the floor, standing in one swift motion and stepping out from behind the cluttered desk. "Not, however, yours, is it?"

I opted to play ignorant, as it was the course of action that was least likely to get me killed. "I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Marie, and that's the truth of it." I lifted my chin a fraction of an inch, staring into the captain's gaze with my own determined one. The corner of his lips quirked up in a humourless smirk as he rested a hand on the desk, which he did not appear keen on moving too far from.

"No, it's not," he said, staring intently at me. "Your name is not Marie, my dear, although it does suit you. The meaning in particular: bitter sea." He laughed, and I pressed my lips together to keep from yelling at the armed and dangerous man before me.

"You would've given my two men a run for their money, would you not have?" he asked suddenly, grinning maniacally. I shrugged with one shoulder, adamant on showing little to not emotion. After all, revealing my feelings would reveal myself, and that could never happen. Not in front of such a worthless pig.

"Perhaps," he continued thoughtfully, regarding me appreciatively. "Although, that's why I sent twelve of 'em. Two you could take easily, but a dozen? Not a chance in hell." He laughed again, and this sound made me want to slap him across the face hard enough to break his jaw.

"Is there a purpose to this conversation?" I asked, my voice devoid of tone.

The captain raised an eyebrow at me, seemingly amused. "Yes, there be a purpose. But first I need you to do something: I need you to say it. Say your name – and don't say Marie," he added, and warningly ran a hand down his side to the sword at his belt. "You won't be enjoying the consequences of lying to me."

I simply shook my head no, refusing outright to play this game. I would not spend my imprisonment – which would likely be brief – forced to relive a past I had for so long attempted to outrun. I would not be a slave to such petty, human things as threats. So I held my tongue and stared straight into the captain's eye, wishing to claw it from its socket.

"Say your name," he said again, this time gripping the sword. I remained silent. "Say your bloody name!" he demanded, drawing the blade; I did not make a sound. He slashed out with his weapon, and I crashed backwards into the wall from the force of the blow. Reaching up with my shackled hands, I touched my cheek in disbelief: there was a long gash, running along my cheekbone, from his sword.

"How dare you," I began, standing and striding over to the captain. "You pathetic, worthless, vile creature! You, of the tiny human race, unable to comprehend the powers that have aged in the world you were born into! I am –''

"What?" the captain asked, feigning eager curiosity. "What exactly are you?" He arced the sword around so that it was suddenly pressed against the exposed flesh of my throat, the steel freezing against my flushed skin. "Say it. Speak the words."

I looked up at him through my tangled locks of hair, anger etched into every inch of my face. But, regardless of my fury, I was well aware of the damage the captain's sword could do. It had been ages since I had been in such close proximity to it, but it was the same blade that had wreaked havoc on my old life, my old family. I knew its power.

So I answered him.

"Vivienne," I spat bitterly. "My name is Vivienne."

The captain watched me for a long moment before a smile began to stretch across his face, twisting his scarred lips gruesomely. "That's all I needed to hear."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Hallo! :) So, here's the second chapter. Hope it was okay, and I do apologise for the shortness. The others will be much longer, I swear. It's just that the story sort of has to pick up pace and right now . . . well, it'll be a few more chapters 'til it does that. ;) But I promise it will! <strong>

**Thank you to Lady Ravanna for following and for your awesome review! :) The romance will come later, although it definitely is in there. And as for the 'them' that Vivienne is the last of, that will be revealed in a few chapters. She has a sort-of wicked backstory, so prepare for that. :) Thank you again for the review! **

**I'll update ASAP. Until next time! :)**

**~ Corinne xoxo **


	3. The Brig

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean (sadly). Enjoy! :)**

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><p>I glared up at the captain, who was talking with the cabin boy he had summoned back into the room. He still seemed a bit nervous whenever he glanced over at me, although I considered that to my advantage; the less pirates around me, the better.<p>

"Take her down there, and for God's sake, don't take off the irons," he added to the boy, tossing me an annoyed look. "She might look like a girl, but she could kill you with the snap of her fingers if she felt the need." I suppressed my surprise at this statement: was he completely unaware of how little power I had?

The cabin boy walked over to me warily, taking hold of my arm and lightly pulling me along, towards the door to the captain's quarters. The captain himself was smiling mockingly at me as I left, almost willingly, and waved. "We'll speak later, Miss Vivienne. Until then."

"Wait," I said, pulling myself out of the boy's grip and turning back to face the captain. "I gave you my name, so you ought to give me yours. It's only fair," I added when he said nothing.

The captain put a hand to his chest and said, "I'm hurt, dear! Do you not recognise me? I thought that day was fairly unforgettable." I scrunched my eyebrows together in confusion, and the captain grinned manically. "Hector, Miss Vivienne. It's Hector."

The name struck me like a slap across the face, and I sucked in a sharp breath of shock and something horrifically close to fear. Then the surprise morphed into fury and I ran forwards, swiping at the man's face, raking my fingernails across his cheek. He shoved me and I fell to the floor, panting; there were two bloody scratches along his cheekbone that I had managed to put there.

"That wasn't very ladylike, was it?" he asked, his voice taking on a menacing edge. "I hope you don't do anything like that again, Missy, or I may be gutting you like a damn fish!"

"I won't be the one whose guts have to be scraped off the deck of this ship," I hissed furiously, glaring at the man before me as the cabin boy grabbed me by the forearms, his hold much tighter now, and forced my arms behind my back.

"It doesn't matter where you put me," I said as I was walked out of the captain's quarters, away of Hector. "It doesn't matter where you hide me. You could drop me to the bottom of the damn Pacific Ocean, and I would still come back and find you. And when I do come back, love, I am going to enjoy ripping out your throat."

The entire walk down to the brig, the cabin boy avoided looking me in the eye, although I did catch him staring at me when he thought I was not paying attention; needless to say, I was. And I was delighted with how afraid of me the boy seemed.

When he silently pushed me into the holding cell of the dank, repulsive brig, however, my delight quickly turned into frustration: I was back in a prison – more specifically, a terrible-smelling prison – and had no way out. The cell was not nearly as cramped as the wooden crate had been, thank God; I could stand up in it, and even take three paces along and across. But the close quarters brought out the most alien feeling in me, one that I had not become accustomed to even after multiple decades: a feeling like nausea, only I knew I would not be sick. It made my palms sweat and my heart beat uncomfortably loud, so loud that I could feel my pulse pounding through my head.

I glanced up through my discomfort to see the boy moving to put out the lit candle, which sat inside a bracket on the wall. If he put it out, I would be plunged into pitch darkness. Forgetting my icy demeanor entirely for a moment, I shook my head desperately and said, "Don't."

The boy turned to look at me, confused. "What?"

"Um . . ." I searched frantically for a response; when there was none that would allow me to retain my dignity, I sighed and spoke what may have been my first and last truth on that ship. "I just . . . don't put out the light, alright?" I huffed for a second, crossing my arms across my chest in annoyance. "It's not that complicated."

He raised an eyebrow but, after a minute of debate, left the wick burning. Then he disappeared up the stairs, back into the crew's quarters and the deck beyond. The brig was in the very hull of the ship, next to the liquor cellar and powder room. I glanced about myself, taking stock of my very small cell. After determining which spot was the least mouldy, I sat down with my legs crossed beneath me and focused on breathing. That usually did the trick for the odd nauseous feeling.

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><p>I did not remember falling asleep, but I must have, considering that I was woken by the sounds of men laughing and carrying on. For a moment, keeping my eyes closed, I forgot where I was, convinced that the sounds were those belonging to the main floor of the tavern where I had recently taken up residence. I had half a mind to call down to them, tell them to be quiet, and knew that Rosa – the barmaid – would probably laugh at my audacity before the small crowd of rowdy sailors and sea merchants.<p>

But then I did open my eyes, and sighed in disappointment. The sounds that had woken me were those of drunken pirates, acting like imbeciles while I withered away in a cell that smelled vaguely of rotting fish and less-pleasant substances.

There was a loud cough to my right and I bolted to my feet, glancing over at the man huddled in the corner, sitting on a half-broken chair. He was one of the pirates, although one I had not seen yet: oddly average-looking, to the point where there was no real distinguishing features. Picking him out in a crowd would have been impossible, had I been tasked with such a thing.

He smirked at me, raising a canteen of what was probably liquor to his lips. He sighed in satisfaction and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding the canteen in my direction. "Cheers, eh, sweetheart?"

I scoffed in disgust, sitting back down and turning my back to the drunken idiot before he did something he would come to regret. I wound up staring down at my chained wrists for a short while, examining the angry red burns that the iron had spread across the pale flesh. They stung as I moved the cold metal over them, but there was really nothing to be done about it. I would simply have to tolerate the dull ache until I could have the infernal shackles removed.

"D'you know why the captain's got you all locked up, nice and safe, down here?" The pirate sitting behind me clearly had not forgotten about my presence, which angered me; I was already imprisoned, still attempting to dispel that odd queasy feeling from the cell. Having a discussion with an intoxicated pirate was not something I would have wasted my time with.

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around the back of my dress' collar, jerking my head back against the iron bars of the cell, sending spikes of pain through my skull. I gasped for breath as the collar was pulled tight against my throat. "It's not nice to ignore people, miss," the pirate hissed into my ear, his breath hot and reeking of rum. "'Specially when a perfectly fine lad like myself is talking to you."

I reached back with my shackled hands, my fingers clawing where I hoped his face would have been. Instead, my hands met nothing but dank air and the pirate laughed harshly next to my ear, his alcoholic breath choking me almost as much as the dress collar he had wrapped around my neck. I struggled for a moment, swiping madly behind my head while trying to keep the white spots out of my vision: the partial-strangulation and the iron bars pressed to the back of my head were throwing so much agony at me that my brain could not quite process it all.

I made a lucky shot, raking my fingernails across the man's cheek. He howled in pain and quickly moved away, the fabric around my throat loosening and allowing me to breathe once again. I scurried away from the iron bars, panting, and reached to gently touch the back of my skull; it throbbed horribly with it met my fingertips, and my hands shot away from it.

Glancing over my shoulder, I could just make out the figure of the man scrambling up the stairs, towards his fellow crewmembers. I snorted in derision, already annoyed with the guards the useless captain had begun to station. Surely the next one would not prove much of a problem after the first?

And they were not a problem. The next five guards I had seemed almost afraid of me, and I was beginning to think that the captain had let slip exactly what he was keeping in the brig. What the men were guarding – for it certainly was not an innocent little girl. If anyone thought differently, I myself would correct them, preferably with as much force as possible.

"Quite the recluse, aren't you?" The voice startled me, being the first one to speak to me in what felt like decades, although it had probably only been about a day or so.

I turned around, my movements slow and tired from avoiding the cell bars, uncomfortable from the iron shackles on my wrists. The speaker was none other than the captain himself, standing casually with his back against the ladder that led down to the brig. There was a smirk playing on his scarred lips, but his dark eyes were intense and solemn. He took a few steps into the room, regarding me in my cell.

"We rarely have prisoners this quiet," he added thoughtfully, tapping a thin finger along a bar of the cell opposite mine. I could not make out all of them in the dim light – the candle having burnt itself out ages before – but there must have been about six in total.

"I didn't think you often have prisoners," I retorted, despite my vow of silence. I had refused to speak a word to the captain, but he had baited me successfully. His eyes shone with a horrible malice as he said quietly, "We don't."

"What do you want with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with annoyance. I did not want to play around with this man, who I recalled all too vividly. "I'm of no value to you, and you know it. So why the bloody hell am I here?" My voice rose with every word, anger consuming me; that was one human emotion I still would not figure out how to control. It was so overwhelming, so easy to give in to and easy to sate.

"What I want, Missy, is a heading," the captain said with a laugh. "What I want is for you to give me the directions to your cursed island." At the mention of the island my hands curled into fists, my fingernails digging sharply into the flesh of my palms. It was all I could do not to reach through the bars of the cell and wrap those fingers around Hector's throat.

"The island," I repeated, my voice stiff with anger. "It is no longer within your ability to find – or mine. You know its rules."

Hector nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I'm aware of the rules. But I'm a pirate, and the first thing a pirate learns is that rules have always been made to be broken." He began his ascent to the crew's quarters, climbing up the ladder but keeping his intense gaze trained on my own; my glare did not waver for a moment.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he said, his tone implying something horrible. "Perhaps I'll bring some of the crew – there are a few dying to meet you. Then we'll see if we can't change your mind about that heading."

And with that, the captain climbed up the rest of the ladder and slammed the door shut beneath him, sending me into pitch darkness that brought back the confusing dizziness again. Perhaps the next day, when the captain returned with his crew, I would finally learn what the feeling was.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: So this chapter was more about Vivienne's past, among other things. Also, in case it wasn't clear, the captain is Hector Barbossa (see the entire plot of Curse of the Black Pearl). Hope y'all liked this one! :)<strong>

**~ Corinne :)**


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